in smoke
How to sleep in a world without a lullaby, without a lulling refrain, without a capacity for forgetting, without unconsciousness itself, since Eros and Thanatos patrol everywhere shamelessly, sardonic watchmen armed with whips and cudgels? How to sleep in a world hypnotized by the vision of its own absence of vision of the world, as well as by the inanity of all visions that have dissolved but that always used to promise awakenings, triumphant mornings following splendid evenings in the blaze of which night has been forever discredited?